


Victory in Defeat

by quinnlocke



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Arranged Marriage, Emotional Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Multi, Political Intrigue, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-09-14
Packaged: 2019-06-23 21:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15615867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quinnlocke/pseuds/quinnlocke
Summary: Conquering lands has always been Tetsurou’s forte, if only conquering hearts came as easily. Bound to a man who hates him, Tetsurou must endure under constant adversity, lest he end up bent and broken.Life has dealt Kenma a cruel hand, but he will not bow to the forces that would see him ruined. The battlefield has changed but the war continues, and Kenma cannot afford to lose.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [curiouslylazy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/curiouslylazy/gifts).



> For Purr, thank you for trusting me with this world

“Today will be the day the war ends, Kenma,” Kozume Kaito said to his son as he fastened his bracers. “We will see Prinn’s army pushed back or we will fall defending our home. Either way, it ends today.”

Kenma nodded quietly, not wanting to hear anything else but his father’s words. He knew these could be the last his father ever utters. Nine months of battle had taken their toll on Kaito’s features. What little of his black hair remained shone silver on his temples and all through his facial hair; Kaito had a terrible habit of pulling on his beard when he was nervous. Kenma had adopted his own version of the habit and would often play with the end of his long braid.

Crows had begun to gather on the field outside their tent, and Kenma could hear their cries over the muffled sounds of Quevin soldiers preparing for the battle. He hesitated to don his own armor, a sense of dread had sat with him ever since news had come from the council, that the crown princess was with the bulk of her main force, marching towards them. 

“It’s a shame Kara did not see the benefit in an alliance with us,” Kaito lamented quietly, his hands steady as he buckled his sword in place. His squire had already departed from the tent, since Kenma had sent him away once his father’s cloak was fastened in place, insisting he could assist his father with the rest.

“I don’t think Senator Shimizu wanted to marry me anymore than I did her,” Kenma finally spoke, laughing weakly. He buckled his dagger to his belt and pressed the back of his hand to small of his back to remind himself of the small blade that rested there. He would not be going into battle with the bulk of the army. His job was to remain at the main camp and to flee for the capital if news of his father’s death reached him. That didn’t mean he would leave himself unarmed however.

They’d risen at dawn, Kaito insisting they pray to The Triumvirate together in the early light of the rising sun. Asking for the blessing of Order against the Chaos that threatened to overtake their home, Kaito had prayed in earnest. Kenma had stared at his father and counted the wrinkles that hadn’t been there a year ago, and he sent a silent prayer to Chaos, that misfortune would befall Prinn’s army before they could begin the march.

Kenma had never been one for religion, let alone the highly structured and rigorous rituals surrounding the Triumvirate. But for his father, he would boldly cry for Order and deny Chaos from his heart, if only to make him smile. 

“I should have spent more time teaching you to be a king,” Kaito said to Kenma’s reflection in the mirror. “I thought I had more time.”

“You will,” Kenma declared, meeting his father’s eyes. “We’ve kept them back for months. Prinn soldiers have not even made it within one hundred miles of the capital. They’ve secured one port, and it’s our weakest.”

Kaito smiled. “You’ve been paying attention at the war meetings after all. I was concerned since you spent so much of them with your head in books.”

Kenma breathed hard through his nose. “I was reading up on Prinn war strategies, researching their methods in an effort to predict their next move. I was correct that Roch was— _would_ —be an early target. We never should have left a port so close to Arina that poorly defended.”

“Roch will be one of my biggest failures, for having allowed it to fall into such a state. Jobashi pirates outnumbered Quevin citizens two to one.” Kaito gritted his teeth. The council’s words left wounds on his conscience that had not faded. “That is the first thing to be done once Prinn has been defeated, _if_ it is defeated.”

“Father.” Kenma wanted to say something inspiring. To tell his father that victory belonged to them. That Quevin had survived the fall of Rona, that the Triumvirate had guided them to this moment, that they would stand tall when the sun set. But in that moment, his words failed him, and they stayed dead in his throat. 

“Your Majesty!” 

A panicked shout came from outside the tent. Kaito’s squire stumbled in through the flap, an arrow sticking out of his back. “We’ve been… ambushed,” he stuttered out with his final breath. Kenma watched in horror as a tall Prinnish soldier clad head to toe in black leather, trimmed with green, strode into the tent. A helmet in the visage of a roaring great black cat hid most of his face, his golden eyes cut straight through to Kenma’s chest.

“Kozume Kaito,” his voice was a deep rumble with a gritted edge. “King of Quevin, second of your name.”

“General Kuroo I presume,” Kaito sneered. His sword had been drawn from the moment he’d heard the soldier’s cry. Kenma looked to where his squire had fallen, Kaito’s shield not two feet away from him. 

“My reputation precedes me then.” Kuroo lowered his head briefly in respect. “Is it the helmet?”

“The hellcat of Prinn is known throughout all lands.”

“Then you know you’re going to die,” he replied, a wide grin spread across his face. He pulled an axe from his back and charged forward, meeting the King's blade with a clash. Kenma watched, unable to move from where he stood. He’d never been fully trained in combat, always having a better mind for strategy and politics. 

Kenma remembered the battle master saying time slowed when two well trained warriors clashed. It was like a symphony, watching fighters learn the steps of their opponent. Matching thrusts with jabs, ducking, countering, and blocking. No practice could ever compare to the moment you faced another on the field and the victory was your life.

Time did not slow for Kenma as he watched his father trade blows with the Prinnish general. In fact, time sped itself up entirely too fast, so fast that Kenma didn’t even have time to scream when the general turned and thrust a hidden blade through his father’s throat. Kaito grabbed at the wound, choking on the blood bubbling up his throat. He looked towards Kenma, holding a hand out and pointing to where their horses waited. His eyes begged him to flee.

Kenma did not do as his father begged. To flee would have been the smart and sensible thing to do. In hindsight, he might have been better off fleeing, considering the circumstances that unfolded due to one act of passionate rage that spurred Kenma not to do so, but to charge forward with his dagger and a scream in his throat.

The general deflected his blow in an instant, sending Kenma sprawling while his dagger flew out of his hands. Kenma scrambled towards his fallen blade, screaming at the hand that gripped the back of his head. Kuroo’s grip on his hair was tight and brought tears to Kenma’s eyes as he lifted him up. Kenma watched with wide eyes as Kuroo pulled a second dagger free from his belt. “Don’t fight me, Your Highness. Death comes to all. They just came for you sooner.”

“Fuck you, and may the Void take you,” Kenma spat, struggling to break free. No matter how he moved, Kuroo kept him from escaping. He yanked Kenma’s head back and brought the dagger to his throat. The mirror that had only just moments earlier reflected his father’s worried gaze now showed the tableau of Kenma and his imminent death. Time, at last, had slowed as Kenma only had eyes for the blade that had stopped a hairsbreadth from his throat. 

Kuroo hesitated, the blade held in mid air as he stared down at Kenma. A shaky breath escaped him, belying the cool composure he’d held from the moment he’d entered the tent. 

It was only a momentary hesitation, but it was all Kenma needed. 

He slammed his elbow into Kuroo’s solar plexus, ducking below the blade. Kuroo wheezed and then let out a scream when Kenma grabbed the blade from his hand and stabbed him in the thigh. Kenma let blind rage carry him through his next act. He pulled the hidden blade from his back. With the first hit, he knocked the helmet from Kuroo’s head, and with the second, he jammed it under his eye, smiling wickedly at the spray of blood and the cry of pain. 

Part of him desperately wanted kill the man there and then, but a voice in the back of his head begged him to run. To get to his horse, ride for the capital and alert the council; ready the troops for the next battle, and ensure Quevin did not fall.

Kenma burst through the fabric at the back of the tent, surprising the two soldiers standing guard. 

“Halt and drop your weapon!” one of them shouted. “Surrender, and you will be spared.”

“That’s the bloody prince of Quevin, you fool. Kill him! No member of the royal family lives!”

Kenma could hear the crows jabbering to one another, the feast of numerous corpses waiting for them. His hands were covered in General Kuroo’s blood, and his own dripped down his cheek, staining his tunic. He smelled smoke, ash, and the grass that he stood upon. 

Kenma held the dagger aloft and bent his knees into a crouch. He had no idea if he could survive this encounter, but he would be damned if he would allow himself to fall now. The two men crept forward, looking to surround him on both sides.

“Lower your weapons, soldiers!” came a loud voice behind them. Kenma looked to see general Kuroo walking towards him, a blood soaked tourniquet wrapped around his leg. The bastard was barely limping. “The prince is to be taken into custody.”

“Sir? Your orders were that none of the royal family survives.”

Kenma’s gaze fell to the fabric acting as the tourniquet that stopped Kuroo from bleeding out. The gold embroidery glinting in the early morning light. It was Kaito’s cloak.

Kenma’s vision went red as he charged forward with a primal cry. The two soldiers charged him and brought him down to the ground before he could get within a foot of the general. He clawed at the ground, shouting for Kuroo’s death and fighting tooth and nail even as his hands were bound behind his back. 

He spat in Kuroo’s face as he was lifted from the ground. 

“I’ll see you taken by the Void, I swear it,” Kenma gritted out, swallowing hard.

“Take him to Commander Kai and send word to the Princess. Tell her King Kaito has fallen and we march on the capital at once.”

***

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, but here is where my kindness must end,” Commander Kai apologized, placing a hand on Kenma’s elbow. He’d flinched at the touch, and Kai had put up both hands, showing he had no ill intent. “We are on the outskirts of the capital, so I’m afraid you must walk now. Next to the cart, if that will please you to still be beside him.”

Kenma had been left under the watch of the commander, who’d acquiesced to his only request to sit beside his father’s body while they travelled to the capital city of Arina. Kenma’s hands had been bound in front of him, and he’d been left alone to watch over his father. Kai had kept the majority of soldiers away, even admonished one for a comment made over Kenma holding his father’s hand.

“Never thought I’d see royalty touching a corpse,” he’d muttered, openly staring at Kenma.

“Soldier,” Kai had snapped, drawing the man’s attention to him where he rode upon his horse. “Do you not wear the sigil of Death?”

“I do, sir, like all who engage in battle who follow The Nine,” the soldier answered, back straight and eyes wide with a fear his posture attempted to hide.

“Then you will remember that Death does not look kindly upon those who would speak ill of the ones still blessed by their lover. Think upon that next you look at their sigil and ask if you have honored your god in the fashion they would look kindly upon.”

No soldier dared come within six feet of the cart after that, and Kenma found himself actually grateful for the actions of the commander. He’d spent the entirety of the day and a half’s ride repeating the mantra for the departed to keep himself from giving into his grief, refusing to allow anyone to see him cry. No one had earned the right to witness him grieving, and he would be damned to let it show now. He kept his hands busy as always playing with the end of his braid. 

Kenma squared his shoulders and kept his head high as they walked down the King’s Path into the capital city of Arina, Kenma’s home for the entirety of his twenty five years. He could hear the murmurs of the citizens as he walked past, whispered prayers for his father. There were a few loud cries of ‘Long Live Kozume Kaito’ and several who declared ‘No King but Kozume’ as Prinn soldiers walked past them. Kenma knew that Crown Princess Haiba Alisa, heir to the throne of Prinn, rode at the head of the march with her commanders likely at her side, including General Kuroo. Kenma hoped his face would scar, that he’d be left with a permanent reminder of what Kenma had done to him.

His eyes finally looked up to the large golden statue of a dragon that stared down from the castle. He ascended the steps towards his palace and felt the great beast’s gaze upon him. The Kozumes wore the dragon sigil, as they had for centuries, and the golden dragon had stood guard over their home since its installation by one of his distant ancestors. Kenma wondered if the Haibas would replace it with a lion, or give it to one of their lower nobles and see another sort of great cat put in its place.

They turned right after passing under the dragon, and Kenma felt his chest tighten at the sight of the three towers of the temple. He bit his cheek and tasted copper across his tongue, letting it sit in his mouth distracting him from the emotions bubbling inside him. Tooru came bursting from the temple doors, his robes in disarray. Kageyama, one of his acolytes, followed behind with Tooru’s diadem in his hands. 

“Kenma!” Tooru cried out, running towards him. Kenma felt one tear fall as his friend came rushing towards him—worry, fear, and something indescribable in his normally composed features. It was almost too much for Kenma to take, and he clamped down on his grief, pushing it deep inside himself and willing it to disappear. He was hauled away towards the dungeons, Tooru still screaming his name as the doors shut behind him.

***

_Three days later…_

“Ken!” Taketora ran towards Kenma’s cell and threw his arms through the openings between the bars. Kenma pulled himself off his cot and stumbled towards him.

“Tora!”

Taketora pulled Kenma to him in an embrace. Both of them ignored the pain of the metal bars pressed between them. Tora kissed Kenma’s forehead, cheeks and then finally one last one on his lips, his thumbs brushing at Kenma’s eyes.

“Thought we said we weren’t going to do that anymore,” Kenma sassed weakly, wiping away a tear that escaped down Taketora’s cheek. “How did you manage to get in here?”

“I’m your escort back to your chambers.” Taketora’s tone was grave and his grip on Kenma tightened further. “The princess has been in private talks with the council ever since her arrival. No one but her and the council have been allowed in. Messenger birds go to and from constantly but no one has any clue what the contents are.”

“Where is my father?” 

“Oikawa has the body, and he’s doing all the necessary rituals and preparations for his funeral.”

Kenma sighed in relief. He had prayed relentlessly that his father’s corpse be allowed the proper ceremony. He heard the sound of keys, and an unfamiliar soldier approached to unlock the cell. Kenma let himself be released from Taketora’s embrace and stepped back from the bars.

“Your Highness, I am here to accompany you back to your chambers. Crown Princess Haiba Alisa wishes to extend an apology for not being here to see to you herself. She asks that you be brought back to your chambers, bathed, fed, and allowed a full night's rest in your own bed. I am also to ask if you have been improperly taken care of.”

“He’s been locked in his own dungeons for three days, that seems pretty improper to me,” Taketora growled. The man paused at the door to the cell.

“You were told you could accompany the Prince back to his chambers to ensure he was escorted safely and without mistreatment. You were not given permission to speak out of turn.”

“Taketora,” Kenma addressed him with as much of a princely tone as he could muster. “Allow the man to do his job.” He bristled but bowed his head with a murmured ‘apologies Your Highness,’ and Kenma turned his attention to the man with the power to free him from his cell. “I have not been mistreated. My accommodations are simply far less than what I am used to.” He’d been given a chamber pot to relieve himself, and a basin of lukewarm water to wipe the dirt from his face. A change of clothes had not been afforded to him, so he still wore the blood of the general on his sleeves.

“That changes now, Your Highness.” 

The cell door opened and Kenma fought the urge to embrace Taketora once more. He would not allow this soldier to see how desperate he was for the barest of human contact. He was the crown prince of Quevin, next in line for a throne that had been held by his family since the foundation of their kingdom. Taketora understood without words and stood next to Kenma as he always had throughout their lives, a step back from the right—never ahead, but there to defend at a moments notice.

Kenma stared straight ahead as they walked, paying no mind to the guards and servants who bowed their heads as he passed. _Your Highness_ , they whispered. _Long live the King!_ another woman cried out before being escorted away by a guard. 

“The people cry for you in the streets and mourn your father,” Taketora whispered. “The gallows have not been prepared, but I worry still they will publicly execute you. It’s what they did to the princess of Nerein.”

Kenma nodded, his eyes flitted to the soldier beside him. His gait suggested he had no idea where he was going and was simply following wherever Kenma walked. He briefly considered just walking down to the kitchens, if only to steal a tart from Shouyou. He had no illusions of escape, even with Taketora beside him, while his palace was overrun with soldiers from an invading force, and there was no General Kuroo to command them to keep him alive.

Kenma hadn’t allowed himself to think of the man who’d murdered his father. General Kuroo, Princess Alisa’s cousin, third in line to the throne of Prinn. He was likely to be lauded as a war hero by his countrymen; praised, honored, and given accolades for spilling the King’s blood. He’d ended the war with a single thrust of his blade, and Kenma loathed that he’d only been able to slice his face. 

“Your Highness!” Yuuki squeaked, opening the doors to Kenma’s chamber and dropping to his knees. “Your presence is an honor and privilege, sire. It pleases me greatly to see,” he choked on the words, tears streamed down his face. “To see you alive, sire.”

“Stand up, Yuuki.” Kenma reached forward and tapped him on the shoulder, holding out a hand to help him stand. “Dragons are not so easily destroyed.”

Yuuki laid a hand over the badge he’d received the day he’d been given the honor being Kenma’s personal servant. For five years he’d helped bathe, dress, and undress Kenma; brought him anything he required and, at times, even acted as a confidant when the prince felt himself in need of someone to confide in. “I serve the Dragon always, sire.”

“Princess Alisa will see you tomorrow morning, Your Highness.” The soldier bowed his head in respect. “My apologies, but Lord Yamamoto is not permitted to join you in your chambers. I will remain outside the room with two additional guards. This is not negotiable.”

“Quevin will remember your name,” Taketora murmured the old saying as he pressed a kiss to Kenma’s head. He fixed the soldier with a hard glare, gritting his teeth. “I know your face now. If anything happens to him, it will be you I seek out.”

“Then, my lord, I will gladly ready my sword to meet you.”

Yuuki fussed over Kenma’s state, tutting over the dirt and grime that caked his clothes, but he was kind enough to not comment on the smell, for which Kenma was grateful. He allowed himself to be undressed, bathed, and then wrapped in fluffy robes by Yuuki, and he murmured thanks throughout. 

“Are you afraid sire?” Yuuki asked, brushing out Kenma’s hair as they sat on the bed together. They picked away at the feast Shouyou had sent up from the kitchens, complete with an apple tart that had made Kenma feel the sting of burning tears.

“If I am,” Kenma said, “you will never know.”

“A king must always show courage to his people.”

“I’m not a king, Yuuki.”

“To me you are.”

“Stay,” Kenma whispered, patting Yuuki’s knee gently when he asked if he should depart to his own chamber. Yuuki responded by slamming into Kenma’s back with a fierce hug, and his tears soaked into the shoulders of Kenma’s robe. “It’s all right, nothing will happen to you, I swear it.”

“It’s not me I am worried about, sire.”

Kenma fell asleep with the warmth of Yuuki pressed against his chest and the gaping maw of his uncertain future at his back. 

***

He awoke alone. As was expected, Yuuki had ignored propriety and indulged Kenma by staying through the night, but there was no chance he would ignore his duties the following day. He brought breakfast and morning tea, as if the day was like any other.

“Yuuki, bring my best blacks,” Kenma said, squaring his shoulders. “I am in mourning.” 

Yuuki bowed his head, eyes somber, and brought out the black linen. The black shirt and pants came first, and Kenma stared blankly into the mirror as Yuuki fastened the buttons at his collar and wrists. Fingers brushed the gold embroidery, shaped to form the crest of his house, of his family to signify it was a royal death, a royal passing.

A royal mourning.

The black over-robe came next, falling to Kenma's ankles, and Yuuki fussed with the split sleeves and the closure at his waist until everything fell properly. Like the shirt and pants, the robe had gold embroidery at the hems. Only the fact that it was made of linen saved it from being oppressively stuffy, but Kenma felt one breath away from choking anyways.

Yuuki caught his fingers, offering a smile, but Kenma's hands were freezing. He pulled them away. "I'll do my shoes myself," he said, quietly. He needed the moment to breathe desperately, and Yuuki didn't argue. He stood back and waited as Kenma buckled his boots in place and sat back to take a breath.

“My mother’s necklace,” he said, using Yuuki’s absence to wipe a tear. “And my crown.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

The silver pendant embossed with a dragon had been Kenma’s since the day of his mother’s funeral. His father had put it around his neck and made him promise to keep it safe, that someday it would be given to the most important person in his life. Kenma had thought back then that he would give it to his own child someday. He hadn’t realized that it was, in fact, meant to be given to the king’s consort. With his wife dead, Kaito gifting her necklace to his son was his declaration that he would not marry again.

Once, Kenma had complained about the formal crown he wore on state occasions, but no longer. Instead, he lifted the platinum band, detailed with gold filigree and five golden trium flowers, which had once bloomed around the capitol city for miles. Each flower held a cabochon cut garnet at the heart as large as Kenma’s thumbnail. He put it on his head and saw himself crowned and in mourning.

He would never let these people forget what they had taken from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a few months ago I considered taking a step back from writing for Haikyuu, I just wasn't feeling any desire to write anything new and my current projects weren't calling to me the way they used to.
> 
> But my wonderful friend Purr gifted me with an amazing story idea and handed the keys to the kingdom to me saying, this is yours. So thank you so much for this, I am eternally grateful that you trust me with this, and that you have helped me build this world.
> 
> Special shout out to my betas Snow and Ella, you guys freaking rock. Thank you for spotting all my errors and for making me sound so much better grammatically.


	2. Chapter 2

Kenma paused outside the doors to where Princess Alisa had taken residence in the royal hall. The rooms she occupied were meant for the consort to the reigning king or queen, they hadn’t been used since his mother’s death. He held a hand up, signalling for a pause.

“Your Highness?” The Prinn soldier, the same one who had released him from his cell the day previous, stood with his hand held in midair, ready to knock.

“Give me a moment,” he commanded as his hand came to rest over the pendant. “I waited in the dungeons for three days. She can wait three minutes.” Kenma wasn’t about to admit to a stranger that it was painful to think of this invader sleeping in his mother’s former chambers. He breathed deep, cleared his mind, and then gave a nod for them to be announced.

Kenma didn’t listen as their respective titles were announced. His attention was firmly taken by the mere presence of the princess. Dressed in as much finery as was to be expected of someone in her station, she rose from the couch when he entered. The green and silver of her dress stood in stark contrast to the pale cream and gold of the sitting room. 

Princess Alisa stood a few inches taller than him, a fact that had Kenma bristling. Her silver blonde hair was reminiscent of a dear friend, and Kenma hated that he found comfort in that familiarity. It made him wonder if he would ever see the man again, to share town gossip and learn the secrets scandals of the merchant’s guild over cards.

“Tea, Your Highness?” Alisa gestured to the table in the middle of the sitting room. “I was given to believe you have a fondness for apple tarts?”

Kenma looked to the tray on the table and back to the Princess. He didn’t like that she was taking command of not only the situation, but his kitchen staff as well, it seemed. “What is the purpose of me being here?”

“I thought it was obvious,” she replied, sitting primly. She paused to prepare her tea herself, dismissing the ladies maid who stepped forward to help. “Perhaps instead, I should have offered you this first.” 

She placed a bit of red silk on the table and unfolded it to reveal a ring. Kenma rushed forward despite himself, snatching the piece of jewelry from the table. He ran his fingers lovingly over the black opal, let the sunlight hit the glittering gold dragon carved into the stone. The signet ring of the Kozume family, an heirloom that had been passed from father to son, to daughter, to mother. Every ruler of Quevin had worn the dragon.

Alisa gestured to the couch across from her and sipped her tea as Kenma sat. She waited patiently while he prepared his own, the signet ring sat on the red silk next to him.

“Are you not going to wear it?”

Kenma paused with his cup pressed to his lips. He regarded her warily and set the cup back down without drinking. “Only the reigning monarch wears the dragon.”

“Are you not?” 

Kenma narrowed his eyes at her tone and bit back the urge to snap at her. This was game—a dangerous one, but a game nonetheless. “If your parents died, right this instant, would you call yourself Empress of Prinn?” Alisa’s jaw clenched at the mention of her parent’s demise, but her hands remained steady as she set her cup back down. “Besides, I’m not going to be King. I’ve read the histories. You take out the royal family, install a ruler of your own, and spread into the next country as you amass more and more for your empire.”

“Do you think I have brought you here to beg for your life?” Alisa asked the question like it was about the weather.

“If you did,” Kenma deadpanned, “you would be disappointed.”

Alisa nodded before gesturing to the ladies maid. “The scroll.” The woman dashed off to the bedroom and returned with a rolled parchment, her hands shaking as she handed it to the Princess. “I have in my hands the fate of you and your country, but you need not beg for your life. I am willingly handing it to you, as well as your throne and the autonomy of your people, with favorable trade contracts and a treaty between us. Should Prinn require your aid in the future, Quevin will provide it.”

Kenma froze, eyes widening at her declaration. What had happened? What was the catch? Prinn had won, his father was dead, while Kenma had been a prisoner in his own dungeons. Even now, with just the two of them, a single soldier, and a ladies maid in a room, Alisa held all the power. 

“And to what do we owe the privilege?” he rasped.

“Your marriage to a member of the Prinn royal family.” 

The words shot into Kenma’s heart like an arrow. He wanted to argue against Alisa, throw her off her game by reminding her that a marriage between he and her would spark the rest of the Rona continent to rise against them. The outlying lands would not see any benefit in the alliance of the two most powerful kingdoms. It would only be asking for a war even grander than the one that had divided the continent a thousand years ago. But he couldn’t bring the words to his lips, because he knew in his heart who his betrothed would be.

Kenma closed his eyes and took a deep breath, barely registering that Alisa had requested someone be told to join them. When the knock came, he opened his eyes and thought for a moment he saw a look of concern in Alisa’s cold eyes, as though she regretted what was about to transpire. She had to know what had happened. All of Prinn would soon know what had happened. Their valiant Lord General had slayed the dragon, brought an end to the invasion in one fell sweep of a sword, and now, he would become the consort to the kingdom he’d conquered for his people.

“His Royal Highness, Prince Kuroo Tetsurou of Prinn, Lord General of the Empire’s Legion.”

Kenma rose and turned to face the man who he tried to kill only a few days prior. His cheek was stitched where Kenma had sliced it open, and he walked with a slight limp, which gave Kenma more satisfaction than he would care to admit out loud in present company. 

Kuroo was dressed in Prinn fashion, loose black linen pants and a green brocade vest over a black open collared tunic. His black hair was styled in a ridiculous fashion that caused it to hang over half his face, just shy of obscuring his vision. 

“Your Highness,” he said, head lowered to Kenma in respect. “Dearest cousin.”

“Tetsurou.” The ice that had been ever present in Alisa’s tone melted away as she said her cousin’s name. “Come sit. We have a treaty to finalize.”

Kuroo nodded and took the seat next to Alisa. He scratched nervously at his neck, pulling the low collar away from his skin. Kenma thought he caught a flash of gold. Their eyes met, and Kenma schooled his face into the calm mask his father had taught him to use. 

_Never let anyone know your true emotions Kenma. They can be used against you. Only those who you trust may know your true face._

Kuroo, obviously, had not been given the same lessons as Kenma. His eyes flitted all over the room, looking away each time Kenma caught his gaze. His mouth worked itself over like he was chewing the inside of his cheek, a far cry from the confident soldier who had strode into their tent and ended his father’s life with a cruel smile on his face.

Kenma looked over the treaty, wishing that Alisa and Kuroo would have the decency to at least pretend they weren’t staring him down. Everything was as Alisa had stated. He would be crowned King of Quevin and his country would retain its autonomy. The trade agreements could have been a little more in their favor, but he was going to live another day, so a loss of taxes on imports was permissible. What he didn’t understand was how Kuroo fell into all of this. Alisa had a brother, a much more suitable match for a King, and yet the cousin was put forward. Did Alisa know that she was handing her cousin over to the one person in the world who very much wished to see him dead?

Doubtful, given the way she’d reacted when Kuroo had walked into the room. He was third in line to the throne, and if reports were to be trusted, he had grown up at the palace after his parents fell in the battle that saw Prinn lose part of the Kaltras desert to Ferdoan. 

He caught Kuroo scratching his collar again nervously, and he felt his own neck grow itchy as a result. He ignored the desire to scratch and instead picked up the quill to sign, hoping that he was doing the right thing. He was not a king yet, but he would be soon. Sacrifices needed to be made for the good of his people, even if that sacrifice was his happiness and, in some small measure, his pride.

“It pains me to bring this up now,” Alisa said as she signed the treaty, “but it is best we keep the details of your father’s passing away from all of this.” Kenma nodded. She was right, of course. It would not do to have the title of Kingslayer be bandied about with his new husband's title. He shuddered at the thought of the sort of rumors that would come about, rumors that would suggest he’d wanted this. “Tomorrow, then. Your father’s funeral. I am led to believe it will happen at dusk?”

“It has been three days,” Kenma noted. “On the fourth, we send our dead to the sea.”

“We can assuage the members of your nobility and council, then, tomorrow with your appearance, and talks of your new marriage and the alliance it has brought about.”

Kenma paled, choking on the bile that threatened to rise in his throat at the very thought of attending his father’s funeral with the man who killed him. “Would you have invited your parent’s killers to mourn with you at their funeral?” he snarled, staring down Kuroo and daring him to object.

“This wasn’t my idea,” he began but was silenced by Alisa, and the tone with which she said his name left even Kenma cringing. 

“Obviously Tetsurou will not be attending,” she said, eyes sharp on Kenma and daring him to snap again. “Your betrothed earned a wound in battle and has been advised by the healers to remain off his feet. I will attend with you, instead.”

Kenma felt a flash of cruelty run through him, remembering the slight limp Kuroo had as he walked into the room. Even as Alisa spoke, Kuroo’s hand went to where the wound was. Kenma wondered if it would be justice to change his mind and make Kuroo attend with him, walk all about the temple, seeking out every nobleman and woman he could, making Kuroo stand and walk, stand and walk. Their eyes met, and he forced the calm back into his countenance. He would not let them know the storm that raged inside him.

He allowed Kuroo to take his hand and press his cheek to his fingers upon his farewell, pulling a handkerchief from his hands to wipe away the stain as he headed back to his chambers. He tossed it, along with the red silk square Alisa had handed his father’s signet back to him in, into the hearth. Watching the cloth catch fire calmed his nerves enough that he stopped shaking by the time Yuuki came to undress him.

He said nothing as he was escorted to his bath, letting the events of the day play over in his head. Alisa was well versed in the game of politics, but she let her warmth for her cousin show too much. It was a weakness, and if possible, Kenma would use it against her in time.

He wished he could say he’d learned a thing or two about his betrothed, but he’d kept his eyes away from him too much to glean anything from him. Minus the constant scratching, Kuroo’s only act had been his insistence that none of this, the marriage or the treaty, had been his idea.

Whose was it, then?

Prinn had won, and Kuroo had secured their victory with Kaito’s death. Why now, then, was Alisa insistent on allowing them their autonomy? What had changed between when they’d marched into the streets and the time he’d spent locked in the dungeons?

“Your _Majesty,_ ” Yuuki gasped, dropping a tray as Kenma stood up from the bath. “Your… your mark.” He raised a shaking hand and pointed to Kenma’s chest where his soulmark was and had been since it made its appearance when he was twelve.

_“Soul marks are old magic my son. They don’t hold much bearing these days, I’m afraid. More and more people are born without them, and those who have them so rarely find the person who matches them. Best not to dwell on it.”_

The black silhouette of the chess piece had drawn him to the game, learning all the ways to guide the knight across the board to secure a victory. When it had appeared, it had been a simple outline, a horse head on its base. Now it stood out as a stark black against his skin. He brought his hand to it and scratched at it absently, wondering if he could make it flake away. 

“What does it mean, sire?”

“Nothing,” he said, fixing Yuuki with a serious look. “Yuuki this means nothing and you will tell _no one_. Do you understand me?”

Yuuki nodded and dropped to his knees to clean up the mess. Kenma dismissed him, insisting he could dry and dress himself for bed. He wanted nothing more than to be left alone, requesting that the fire be built up before he retired for the evening. 

Kenma pulled his chair as close to the fire as he could and sat, basking in the warmth. He touched the mark on his chest tenderly, wondering how he and Yuuki had missed it the day before. He hoped for a moment, maybe because it hadn’t changed until today, perhaps the guard who escorted him to Alisa was…

No, the guard had touched his hands when he’d inspected them to ensure Kenma’s wrists hadn’t been injured when he’d been bound by the commander. The mark would have changed then as all soulmarks did so upon contact with their match.

_“I almost cried when my mark didn’t change after meeting Kenma.”_

_“Is that why you held my hand when we met the first time?”_

_“Of course! I had to maximize contact to make sure my mark knew I’d finally met you. But it didn’t change. I cried myself to sleep when I realized my crown meant nothing.”_

_“I don’t know Tooru, seems to me that crown is there so everyone knows you are indeed a royal pain in the ass.”_

_“Suga!”_

Kenma didn’t let himself even entertain the hope that the commander was his soulmate. He would not allow his emotions fight his logic on this one. He knew the truth, and finally understood how he’d ended up where he was.

He replayed the events in the tent over and over again. Kuroo, his father, the blade, and the blood. How he’d been overpowered and sent sprawling, the tear of fabric as his tunic ripped when Kuroo hauled him to his feet. No doubt, as Kuroo held the blade to his neck, he watched as the mark on Kenma’s chest changed, and he probably felt his own do the same. His hesitation, his command that the soldiers take him alive, and now Kenma’s survival and subsequent marriage all made sense.

The man who killed his father, who would soon become his husband, was his soulmate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SURPRISE!!! THIS IS A SOULMATES AU TOO!!!
> 
> I was very much on the fence about tagging that, because I know its a draw for some people, but truth be told; I needed the surprise twist to stay a surprise. So the tag will likely never go up, simply because it's such a big deal that it come out of nowhere. Thank you to everyone who has kuod'd and commented, I appreciate you greatly.
> 
> Snow and Ella, you are awesome. Always to Purr, thank you for the inspiration.


	3. Chapter 3

Kozume Masae had been a great beauty when she was alive. Ebony curls, porcelain skin, and vibrant golden eyes. Alisa searched those eyes and tried to find a reflection of the late queen’s son hiding in them somewhere. Masae’s portrait hung above the mantle in what used to be her sitting room, and its presence made Alisa feel both welcome and judged staunchly. It was as though Masae might return to life, if only to ensure Alisa caused no further harm to her son.

“He has her eyes, don’t you think?” she asked her serving maid, Tsu. “The prince. He has her eyes, and I swear he sat exactly as she is in this portrait, back straight, hands folded, a perfect match.”

“The Queen passed away when the prince was only five,” Tsu murmured, staring up at the painting. “The King had this portrait done several times to be hung in his room and in the prince’s, so she could teach him grace even when she was gone.” Tsu’s eyes widened and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I shouldn’t have - apologies - your highness, it’s just…”

“I’m the warrior princess of an invading land come to claim your country and bathe in its blood?”

“No! I mean...” Tsu fretted, hands in the air as she attempted to save face. “I don’t want to anger his highness by sharing stories of his mother with you. They are... precious to him.”

“You don’t need to worry about something like that,” Alisa reminded her with a smile. “What is said in this room stays between us. I know Prince Kenma does not see me in the best light, but I will not have that light be shed on his citizens. I know you are loyal to him, and he knows that, too.”

“Thank you, your highness,” she said, head bowed.

“Kaito loved his wife, then?” Alisa headed towards her bedroom with Tsu following behind.

“Oh yes, very much. Their marriage had been an arranged one, but they’d known each other for many years. When her Majesty passed away, the King, he fell into a terrible despair.” Tsu paused as Alisa pulled a black gown from her travelling chest. “Oh, no no, you can’t wear that your highness. Not to the funeral.”

“What?” Alisa held the gown up to inspect. It was in Prinn fashion but cut to be a tad more modest for somber occasions. From what she saw of Quevin fashion, modesty was key. “Why not?”

“Would be a great disrespect to the Prince if you wore black to his father’s funeral. Mourners wear grey, only the family of the departed is to be in black.”

Alisa had been raised from the minute of her birth to be a princess. To be poised, calm, fearless, ruthless, and above all else, dignified. Which is why she did not scream ‘ _are you fucking kidding me?’_ but oh, how she longed to. “Tsu,” she said, breathing in and out as calmly as possible. “Is there _any_ chance at all that a dress can be procured from a shop, or from a lady of the court?”

Tsu’s mouth opened and closed, and she bit her bottom lip. “I… perhaps there.” A knock at the door interrupted her startled rambling, and Alisa heard her whisper thanks to Order as she dashed off to answer it. Alisa sat on the bed and stared at her hands, frowning at the calluses on her thumbs. 

She grimaced at the pain building behind her eyes and rubbed between them, willing away the headache before it could bloom further. They’d only begun after the start of the preparations for the invasion, and she blamed them completely on her father and his desire to see their power cross the seas.

“Your highness!” Tsu burst back into the room excitedly. A carefully wrapped bundle was in her arms. “Order, it seems, would save you from Chaos this day. You have a friend in court!”

Alisa took the package and unwrapped it with shaking fingers. She didn’t believe for a moment anything within would be a danger to her, but she was always aware of potential for assassinations. Vigilance had been drilled into her by her mother from a very young age.

“Oh!” Tsu gasped at the lovely grey silk as Alisa removed the dress from the wrapping. “Oh, it’s lovely. I remember when that was the style. ’Tis a shame it went away. Maybe you wearing it will bring it back into fashion.”

“Who delivered this?” Alisa asked. She couldn’t help but admire the bead work and ties on the sleeves. “Was there a note?”

She took the parchment from Tsu and looked it over, noting the careful penmanship.

_Your Royal Highness, Crown Princess Haiba Alisa of Prinn,_

_As a stranger to our ways, it occurs to me you will not know the traditions of a Quevin funeral. Please accept this dress to wear to the ceremony this evening._

_Humbly yours, Lady Yamamoto Akane_

“I know this name,” Alisa remarked. “I met her… father, brother?”

“Lord Taketora is the Lady Akane’s older brother. They are next in line, should his highness not have heirs.”

Alisa smiled at the note and recognized the actions behind the gift. A smart girl, well aware of the powers already at play. “I hope we meet Lady Akane. I need a friend in this court.”

***

"Your Highness," Tooru greeted severely, out of breath and trying badly to hide it. It made a sly smile tug at the corner of Kenma's lips, despite himself. Tooru narrowed his eyes. "Your Royal Bratness," he admonished, voice echoing through the hallway. He’d caught Kenma before he could enter the Mourning Chamber.

Kenma rolled his eyes at the old nickname. "You're one to talk, Tooru," he said, only to be crushed into a hug. “I’m early.”

“You’re _early,”_ he echoed, stroking his fingers over the back of Kenma’s neck and pressing a kiss to his temple. “I wanted to be here when you came in.”

He smiled and took a deep breath. “I just wanted a chance to see him, before _everything_ ,” he sighed, letting Tooru hold him just a little longer. 

“I can go then,” Tooru offered. Kenma tightened his arms around him in response. “If you wanted a chance to cry privately that is.”

Kenma shook his head. “I got my crying out of the way earlier,” he lied, hoping Tooru was far to busy fretting over his state of disarray to notice.

“Your Eminence,” Kageyama came bursting into the room, Tooru’s diadem and chain in his hands. He stopped short of running into them and bent at the waist as he tried desperately to catch his breath. Kenma gave Tooru a knowing look that Tooru dismissed with a turn of his head. He kept his eyes to the ceiling, lest his guilt be evident in them. 

“Thank you Tobio,” he said, taking the accoutrements from the young acolyte. “You may leave.”

“Yes, Your Eminence,” he practically shouted before running from the room, returning only moments later to bow low and cry out. “My condolences, Your Highness!” 

They waited until Kageyama was out of earshot to begin laughing, clutching each other in an effort to stay upright. Once their giggles had quieted Kenma flicked Tooru in the forehead. “Eminence?”

Tooru pouted, rubbing the sore spot on his head. “Am I not?” he countered petulantly. “I’m the high priest of the Triumvirate, thus any noble lineage he has above my former station is null and void.”

Kenma shook his head, happy at least for a reasonable way to distract Tooru, and Kageyama was perfect for that. He was a looming threat to Tooru’s station in his mind alone, no matter what anyone told him otherwise. “You _are_ above him.”

“Don’t start…”

“I’m just saying.”

“As your best friend.”

“I think Tora would take offense to that statement.”

Tooru scoffed, a smug grin crossing his face. “Best friend and _former_ lover,” he leered. “Tora and I share a lot of titles, don’t we? Too bad he never wanted to share the other one.”

“You would never have accepted anything but the top,” Kenma quipped back, letting Tooru loop his arm around his waist as he led him further down into the lower levels of the temple.

“If I remember correctly, you were always on top.”

“In all ways.” Kenma smiled, openly and honestly for what felt like the first time in ages. Tooru always had a talent for making him forget his troubles, which allowed him to once again push back the grief that had been nipping at the edges of his mind. Tears would do him no good. They would not bring his father back to life, they would not prevent his future marriage to his killer, and they would not erase the scars that Prinn’s invasion left on his kingdom.

“So on his first day when he arrived and he called me ‘Your Grace,’ I admit,” Tooru announced with no shame, “that I told him if he ever addressed me as anything but ‘Your Eminence’ ever again, I would see him flayed.”

Kenma knew he should admonish Tooru for his behavior. Kageyama was a high noble, and his position as an acolyte did not change his status in court. He was well within the rights of propriety to address Tooru with the less formal ‘Your Grace,’ but he also understood Tooru’s fear. Kageyama was everything Tooru was. They were both equally devoted, ambitious, and wholly committed to the Triumvirate. However, Kageyama had one thing Tooru could never achieve: a high rank in court by virtue of birth.

Their banter drew to a close as they approached the entryway of the mourning chamber. Kenma felt his throat tighten with the threat of a sob, and he bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood. His father’s body lay in the center of the room, dressed in finery, hands clasped together over the hilt of his sword.

“Do you want to be…” Tooru’s words were cut off by the shake of Kenma’s head. The smell of oils filled Kenma’s nose, and he remembered the last time he’d smelled the salves used to to preserve the body. 

“He’ll be with my mother soon,” Kenma whispered, stroking the brocade of his father’s overcoat as his fingertips traced the finely weaved scales of the dragon. He took a deep breath and looked to the chair in the corner; the shears, brush, comb and tie sat waiting for him. “I’m ready.”

Tooru led him to the chair, murmuring the Chant for the Heir under his breath, and his hands were steady as he released Kenma’s hair from the tie holding it back. His fingers combed through Kenma’s tresses, his voice even as he continued the chant. It was quiet enough that Kenma could just barely make out the words. He combed the few knots that Yuuki had missed and then began to brush oil from Kenma’s crown to the tips of his hair. It would allow it to burn easily.

Once Tooru deemed his hair sufficiently brushed and oiled, he proceeded to braid it, tying it off at the top and the bottom. “Your hair has seen the chaos of a reign ended. Now, we must sever it, so that order may follow into the new era. Your hair has seen the life of your dearly departed father, and it will travel with him into the next life, a piece of you for him to carry always.”

Kenma closed his eyes, refusing to flinch as the sound of the shears cut through the silence in the room. He felt the clean cut ends of his hair brush along his jaw, and he opened his eyes to see Tooru smiling, despite the shine in his eyes. 

“Doesn’t the text call for it to be a bit shorter than this?” Kenma quipped, touching the ends of his hair. 

“The length is left to the discretion of the high priest.” Tooru smiled, stroking Kenma’s cheek. “You’re still as dashing as ever.”

Kenma took Tooru’s fingers and kissed them. “Thank you, my friend.”

***

Sunlight poured through the open vaulted ceiling, highlighting the gold and cream of the marble walls. Each wall contained arches spanning both floors of the room, complete with a balcony from which the lords and ladies of the court could gossip and play at palace intrigue. Every pillar, every bit of railing, and the vaulted ceiling itself had been adorned with intricately detailed frescos, hundreds of years old. Alisa never let her composure crack, but it was impossible to be anything but breathless when faced with such beauty.

Not for the first time, Alisa regretted that she could not sway her father towards the idea of a more peaceful approach. 

She’d fought against her father continuously over the invasion of Quevin. Why invade when diplomacy, for once, was the better option? They’d used diplomacy even as they’d spread across the continent, much to their benefit given their centuries old treaty with Kara. Could they not, this time, secure an alliance, especially given the wealth of the nation in question?

Quevin was richer than any country she had been to before. Even the mountain country of Dath, which through nothing more than mining the precious metals and gems deep underground, had forged an impenetrable iron wall into the mountain range that protected their home. 

“Your Highness shouldn't be walking alone,” came a soft voice at the bottom of the stairs. Commander Kai stood waiting with a gentle smile on his face.

“I seem to recall giving you permission to use my name,” she smiled, offering her hand. 

“I will use your name when there is no one but you to hear it,” Kai murmured. He pressed a chaste kiss to her fingers. 

“Tetsurou sent you,” Alisa admonished, smiling as she let Kai take her arm. “Is he so certain I'm in danger?”

“I think he'd prefer you use caution until everything is finalized. You are still a conqueror to these people, even with their Prince alive and ready for coronation.”

Alisa sighed. “At least he had the decency to not ask you to dress like a guard.”

“I told him I would only act as an escort,” Kai said with a smile. “That were I to show up as your armed guard, it would be an insult to you as much as myself.”

“He sputtered didn’t he?” Alisa giggled, the lightest rosy tinge showed itself along the top of Kai’s ears. It was a subtle thing that Alisa was certain no one else knew about. Tetsurou would certainly be quick to taunt his best friend over a blush. “I do love when you manage to make him be quiet.”

“It is a rare occasion, indeed.”

They walked in silence, listening to the sounds of the waterfalls that surrounded the palace. Arina was built atop a high hill, with rivers running underneath that fed out to the sea, making the entire city a paradise of cascades. But none so magnificent as the one that the temple sat above.

“It’s a tad ostentatious don’t you think?” Kai murmured as they drew closer. “Then again, I don’t understand the Triumvirate.”

“Nor do I,” Alisa agreed. “What I do know of it tells me it’s a lot of rules, a lot of ritual, and a lot of _odd traditions_ ,” she noted, gaze drawn down to the borrowed dress. 

Kai glanced to her and let his eyes wander the length of the gown and back to her eyes. “I thought that dress seemed unfamiliar.”

“Do you familiarize yourself with all my dresses, Kai?”

“I make a point to appreciate beauty, Your Highness.” Despite his gesture to the sigil for Beauty on his lapel, the light tinge on Kai’s ears grew to a full blown rouge as the words left his mouth. Alisa smiled and said nothing. His affection for her had never been a secret since he’d boldly proclaimed that he’d earn the honor to court her someday. They’d been fourteen, and his father had stammered with embarrassment, while his mother smiled with pride. 

They caught the gaze of many nobles as they walked past, and some were not as subtle about hiding their stares as others. She saw a few of the council members and kept her eyes averted from theirs, lest they take it as an invitation to approach her. Of Quevin’s council, only one or two stood out to her as anyone of merit. The rest of them were schemers who practically threw themselves at her feet from the moment she entered the room, and two of them even had the audacity to mention their lineage during discussions of who would inherit the throne after Kenma’s execution. She hadn’t bothered mentioning the plans she was orchestrating behind the scenes, at least not until she’d presented the council with treaty signed by their prince. 

Everything she had done, she had done with one goal in mind. Tetsurou, and the guarantee he wouldn’t do something brash and foolish in the wake of his discovery. As much as it pained her to force their marriage, to force everything that was happening, she had no choice. Prinn had won, while Kenma’s fate was sealed the moment Tetsurou struck down his father. 

“He knows,” Kai whispered, effortlessly steering her out of the direction of Councilor Mori. “Your eyes always look a shade darker when you’re thinking of Kuroo. No matter what you’ve done, what you’ve arranged, sacrificed, moved, schemed for; he knows it was for him, and he loves you all the same.”

“Will he in ten years when he’s stuck here, alone, with a husband who hates him?” Alisa replied gravely, the threat of tears in her tone. “Kenma will never forgive him, and Tetsurou will never seek to atone because he knows no regret in battle.”

“You speak as though no one is capable of change,” Kai commented. “I think you are blind when it comes to your family.” He squeezed her arm when she opened her mouth to object. “It’s not a flaw, it is a great virtue, and one I hope you never lose. You are blind with love for them, and you will always want what is best for them. You’re quick to see dangers and hardships, so that you may circumvent them and deliver nothing but happiness to their lives.”

“You speak too well of me Kai,” Alisa accused, stopping outside the open temple doors. “Surely blindness, even through love, could be a flaw.”

“If you have a flaw”—he took her hand once more and kissed it—“I have not seen it.”

“Is my title not a flaw to you?”

Several people passed them as they stared at one another in silence. Alisa had always held her tongue when it came to Kai’s affection for her. To lead him on would be cruel, and to give him false hope that someday he could ascend the ranks to be worthy of her hand would be an offense to not only him, but to her conscience as well. But as Kai rose higher and higher, from a low noble selected to be the Prince’s sparring partner, to his second in command, Alisa had longed to give herself that hope.

“If you have a flaw,” he repeated, eyes intent on her own. “I have not seen it.” 

“I should attend the ceremony alone,” Alisa offered weakly when the silence between them became weighted. “The less Prinn presence here, the better.”

“You are armed?”

Alisa smiled, giving Kai a polite shove. The question was unneeded, and he knew it. But he also knew that asking it would break the tension between them and allow her to compose herself. “I am Haiba Alisa, Heir Apparent and future Empress of Prinn. My presence is my weapon, but it never hurts to be careful.”

Kai bowed his head low. “Then I will take my leave.” 

She watched him walk away, knowing he would not turn back for one last look, and yet she could not stop herself. She let out a deep sigh and composed herself once more to face the citizens of Quevin. As she stepped into the temple, the thoughts of what might have been struck her once more. 

“Diplomacy,” she whispered, in awe at the beauty in front of her. Beyond the temple doors, the aisles dropped down into a wide stone amphitheatre with ornately carved wooden benches for seating. Behind the stone altar stood a marble sculpture of the three circled sigil of the Triumvirate, and beyond that was a wall of glass windows, giving parishioners a full view of the river that ran from the mountains out to the sea. 

“Pardon me.” A man with his wife brushed past her, and they walked down the aisle and then turned down a row to take their place. Several more people passed her by, all in varying shades of grey. Some were finely dressed, others more simply. The flush of people all filing in made Alisa realize she had no idea where she was meant to sit. The nobility seemed to be closer to the front, but there were some finely dressed parishioners in the very back rows, their clothes entirely too well made for them to be members of the common folk. 

Seeing no other option, she walked along the back of the temple and sought out what she hoped was a priest, his blue robes causing him to stand out from the sea of somber grey. The young man she approached had a severe expression, which diminished the soft beauty of his blue eyes. 

“Pardon me,” Alisa smiled sweetly. “Where am I meant to sit?” The young man’s gaze turned out to the temple and then back to her, as if to say, ‘where you have always sat,’ but when his gaze returned to her face, his eyes went up to the crown on her head and back. 

“Oh-oh-oh…” he stuttered gasping over his words. “Your highness!” he shouted finally, drawing several looks and one or two glares. “Up front, front row, just behind the mourners position. I can’t leave this spot I can point you towards…”

Alisa held up a hand to halt the boys stammering. “No need, I see where I need to go, thank you…”

“Kageyama, your highness.”

“Thank you, Kageyama.”

The eyes of Quevin followed her to her seat, and she kept her head high, as any successful conqueror would. Though her victory tasted more and more like defeat the longer she thought about it. As she approached the front row, her attention was drawn to the family already there. A man and woman with a young girl between them, who shuffled her father to the side to put herself next to where Alisa would be sitting, ignoring a quiet admonishment from her mother. She bowed her head low as Alisa approached but said nothing, her parents following her lead and offering respect as well.

The back doors of the temple closed with a thud, and footsteps echoed through the temple followed by hushed whispers. Alisa kept her eyes forward but couldn’t help hiding her smirk. She had to give him credit, he knew quite well how to play the game. She’d told him to offer his people hope with proof of his survival and news of his marriage. 

He’d given his people hope no doubt, and he left them all in awe as he walked alone down towards the altar. Clothed in rich black linen, lined with gold and red thread, he looked even more resplendent than he had during their meeting the day previous. 

“He truly has his mother’s eyes,” she whispered to no one as Kenma turned his attention to her for one fleeting moment, turning away at last to take his place ahead of her, the future King of Quevin.


End file.
